


Honor

by silverr



Category: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo
Genre: Bruises, Canon - Anime, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-25
Updated: 2010-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrea is tired of secrets: he wants them to know exactly what he has taken from her.</p><p>Spoilers for episode 19 and 20.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honor

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo_ is copyright Mahiro Maeda, GONZO / Media Factory, GDH, Geneon, and Funimation. No infringement or disrespect of owners of existing copyrights in _Gankutsuou_ or its derivative works is intended by this non-profit, noncommercial amateur fan fiction.

He knows he can't hit her face, or bite her shoulders or the side of her neck; that would show, and ruin everything. But he knows her well enough to know that her breasts will likely be covered by whatever expensive white wedding dress Daddy has bought her – unlike her cow of a mother, who would probably appear topless if saggy old tits were part of formal attire.

He hopes it will all be crashing down soon, in front of him, so that he can see their faces fall.

.

"And where might you be going at this late hour?" She has a suitcase. Two days before the wedding, he's not about to let her escape.

"I – " The moonlight hasn't reached this part of the courtyard yet; her face is a pale oval, her suitcase a pale square in the shadows.

He doesn't need light to smell her sudden fear, however. She's observant, he'll give her that – she's noticed his open shirt, his half unzipped pants. So different than the stuffy brocade disguise he's been wearing.

She runs, but he's faster; he tackles her. He can tell from the sound she makes as she hits the cobblestones that her backside will be bruised tomorrow, and this excites him as much as her struggles. "No! stop it!" she begs, and when he lets go of one of her hands to rip away her panties – running away wearing such a short dress, she was making it so easy – she slashes his chest with her nails.

He cannot believe that she has marked him this way, drawn his blood. How dare she? "You have no right, you bitch!" he says, but stops himself before he slaps her. He can't do anything that will show, but he thinks of the bruises on her ass, the bruises that his grip will no doubt leave on her wrists, underneath the elbow length gloves of privileged virginity she'll be wearing at their wedding.

He knows how he will make her pay. He will take every last thing that she has left.

Her dress tears easily. "Even the daughter of an aristocrat is ruined for life if she loses her honor, eh? if everyone finds out that something like this was done to her, wouldn't she? And her potential husband, he could reject her if she wasn't a virgin, isn't that right?" He can see the panic and shame in her face, how it's paralyzed her, and he's disappointed; but then she rolls over, tries to get to her feet to run again, and he pins her, knowing that the cobblestones will leave loving reminders that she'll have to hide under her long, white dress. "The day after tomorrow, little sister, you're going to belong to me, so I suppose hymen's main course will have to wait until then." He grips her thigh, twisting and pinching the skin, while his other hand unzips his pants. "But there's no reason your future husband can't have a little appetizer now, is there?"

As he runs his cock down the crack of her ass, searching, she suddenly begins to struggle, wildly, silently frantic.

"Now now, just remember – by marrying me, you're buying the continued existence of your dear Momma and Poppa. And not just your family, the Morcerfs too – or should I call them Mondego now?" The instant he says this she stops fighting, goes as limp as a rag dolly. He finds the puckered hole and thrusts in, laughing at how quickly the dry grip is lubricated by blood. "Was that your honor you just gave me, Eugenie? Or your virtue? Do you think they'll appreciate it, your family and friends?"

She does not respond to his thrusts, not by movement or sound, and he worries for a moment that he's killed her, which will be hard to explain. So he lets go of her hip and grabs a breast, squeezing and kneading, but still nothing.

It is not until he lifts the hair from the nape of her neck, looking for the best place to taste her sweet, sweet blood, that he can hear her tears.

.

.

_~ The end ~_

.

.

Written for Kink Bingo round 3, card 1, kink 2,3: bites/bruises

AN: I hate this, but at least it's done. It's something that I've felt about that scene ever since I saw it.

(01) 25 August 2010


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